Deja Vu
by Fierceawakening
Summary: Kinkmeme fill, for the prompt "first time all over again." Starscream awakens in a medbay, only to discover he knows no one in it. It seems that he was taken prisoner - and his memory core wiped clean while he was there. He recognizes none of his rescuers, but notices that he feels a strong attraction to their leader. M for sticky.
1. Chapter 1

Static flickered in front of Starscream's optics as his processor rebooted, the kind of slow, heavy restart that told him something was clearly wrong even before his error correction could assess the problem.

He was lying on a berth. Medical cot, if the hard, unyielding feel of the thing told him anything. The static clogging his visual feed slowly resolved into a stark ceiling, its blue-white light glaring down at him. It stung; his optics had opened too wide, stuck at the wrong aperture. He tossed his head, annoyed with his systems' too-slow recalibration.

He heard a clanking shuffle of feet and saw mechs staring down at him. They were painted a garish green and purple. _A team, _Starscream guessed, wondering why in the Pit he didn't recognize them. From the way their faceplates looked as they stared down at him, he guessed they must know him.

They were frowning. As well they might, if he'd become damaged in battle or by some virus and they were trying to repair him.

But those frowns didn't look like concentration. They looked like annoyance.

"So," another voice said, somewhere behind them, "our lost mech finally returns to us."

Starscream's spark crackled, hearing it. His turbines spun with an unmistakable whir and he caught the sound of fans a moment later. Which meant that either these medics had decided to increase the ambient temperature in the room for the sake of his comfort, or that his cooling fans had kicked on, too.

_Must be more than my processor that's glitched, then_, he decided. A raspy, ruined-sounding voice shouldn't have compelled him - not like _that._

And yet he had to admit that something about it... intrigued him. He came from Vos, the jewel of Cybertron's skies, and he was its prize. Its fastest flier. Its cleverest commander. Its most beautiful mech.

And yet that voice mocked him, easily and comfortably, as though it had done so for vorns.

Which maybe it had.

_I know you, _he thought, hissing as he queried his internal databases and found only a twisted array of errors.

He stared up at the faces surrounding him again. They still wore their perfectly lovely set of frowns, but his frame's sudden, obvious, and noisy reaction to the other mech's voice hadn't fazed them in the slightest.

Cursing, he sat up on the berth, clapping a hand to his head and glowering at the purple and green team of what he'd deduced must be incompetent medics. They stood in an impenetrable knot around him, blocking him from moving much more.

And from seeing whoever that mech was. He caught flashes of gray behind the frames of the medics, but nothing more.

That also made him thrill with recognition, a warm heat suffusing his circuits.

_I'm... attracted to him? _Starscream thought. _I can't even see him!_

"He is awake, Lord Megatron," one of the medics said, in a rich cultured voice Starscream _should _have found much prettier than - _Megatron's, apparently._

He felt a twist of recognition at the name. _I know you, _he thought again, with a deep certainty that he couldn't help but find reassuring somehow.

If nothing else, meant that his embarrassingly intense response to that ugly voice made sense, at least.

"But his processor's slagged to the Pit and back," another of the medics put in, his voice a rough, disgusted rumble.

"Indeed. Especially his memory core. Right now, I'd be surprised if he could access enough of it to recall his own name."

Starscream shrieked in protest, making the crowd of medics around him wince in unison.

_My - my memory core? What did they do to me?!_

And - even more disquieting - who, precisely, were "they," and how did he know they'd done something to him?

His spark quailed, and the cooling fans that had roared to life earlier sputtered to a frozen halt. What in the Pit had _happened _to him?

His wings beat a panicked tattoo as he struggled to collect himself. Going to pieces in front of a gaggle of irritated mechs wasn't exactly wise. Not until he knew what was really happening here.

"My name," he said, glaring at the assemblage and flicking his wings, "is Starscream. And if you're here to repair me, I'd appreciate your doing so quickly, so that when I _remember_ you, I won't have any new negative associations to attach to your names."

Six sets of optics flared at his insolence. He cycled power to his null rays, ready to blast one of them if they decided to do anything but immediately tend to his repairs.

Instead, the circle they'd formed around him parted without a word, giving him the clear view he so badly wanted of this _Megatron _he couldn't quite remember.

His spark pulsed at the sight.

The mech was tall, towering over the others, his silver frame the broad and sturdy build of the ancient gladiator castes.

_He looks, _Starscream thought, licking his lips, _like he could crush anyone here with his bare hands._

Which were black, black and big like the rest of him, pitted with tiny dents and scars. With another thrill of recognition, he realized that this Megatron had probably done exactly that.

And he, himself, had probably been there to watch it.

_Those, _Starscream reflected, pouting, _are unfortunate memories to lose._

Then there was the big mech's frame. That was plain. Too plain, as far as Starscream was concerned. But somehow, he found himself thinking that it suited its bearer better than anything else might have.

And gray - plain, unadorned gray - was the color any mech's frame turned when his spark guttered out. The color of death. The color of destruction.

Of someone with the power to crush anything in his way.

Starscream had always loved power.

The mech's weapon was big like the rest of him. An enormous cannon, so big Starscream wondered what marvel of hydraulics enabled Megatron to lift it, stood mounted on the mech's right arm. He shivered involuntarily as he gazed at it, a thrill of fear chilling his spark.

Still shuddering, he narrowed his optics, deciding to look at anything else, and when he widened his optics again, they fell on a purple symbol in the center of the big mech's chest.

Curious, he peered at himself. _That's the same mark as the one on my wings._

And on the medics' plating too, now that he took notice of it.

He didn't like that thought. They'd called Megatron "Lord." If he was their lord, then -

_Bah, _Starscream thought with another click of his wings. _I serve no one but myself, regardless of whose mark I wear. If this mech doesn't know that - well. Let him learn it at his own peril._

He smiled, lifting his head to meet Megatron's optics.

Megatron's face was severe, a study in harsh angles, framed by a plain helmet. That shouldn't have looked impressive either, but somehow the big mech wore that simple adornment as though it were an emperor's diadem.

Starscream shivered again, this time in something very different from fear.

If Megatron noticed, he hid it carefully indeed. His mouthplates were set in a grim line, his expression the picture of unruffled neutrality.

But his optics, bright raging red under bands of angular black, glowed brightly as he stared at Starscream.

_This is affecting you too, isn't it, "Lord" Megatron? _Starscream thought, his optics flashing.

"Starscream," Megatron said, his voice stern, "calm yourself."

Starscream's optics widened. This Megatron, apparently, thought nothing of ordering him around. His turbines whirled in indignation.

And yet - this massive mech, saying such things to his face! Completely without fear, as if he fully expected to be obeyed.

As if Starscream had as much choice in the matter as a planet had in revolving around its sun.

"Your medics insulted me," he retorted, too quickly. "For a problem they apparently failed to fix."

"My medics?" Amusement flickered in Megatron's optics.

Starscream gnashed his dental plates and spread an arm wide, indicating the group. "Them."

"It's thanks to 'them' you function at all, Starscream. You would do well to remember that."

Starscream huffed. He couldn't exactly argue with that, as much as Megatron's condescending tone made him want to power up his null rays and shoot the mech square in the faceplates.

"Of course," he answered instead, twisting his lip plates into a winning smile. "And for that I'm thankful, -"

He paused, wondering what he should call Megatron. It galled him to think of calling the mech "Lord," especially when he couldn't for the life of him recall what bizarre turn of events would ever have required he do such a thing. But if that marking did mean Megatron commanded here, and he wore it, it would be impolitic to say nothing. At least until he knew his position here.

And that fearsome, deadly frame surely warranted _something_. His cooling fans kicked on again, and he said the first thing that came into his processor, trusting to his own innate charm to ensure he'd deliver it well enough.

"- _mighty _Megatron. But - how severely damaged was I, if memory loss like this is the best they could do?"

"The last three times we tried to reboot you, you barely even came online," one of the medics grumbled, a broad-framed mech holding a tray of supplies.

_Three times?_ Starscream marveled.

_I must be valuable to them._

_To him_, Starscream's mind amended, and his spark pulsed at the thought, heat pooling in his interface array.

He glared down at his pelvic armor. Fortunately, his valve didn't seem to be leaking.

Yet.

"We don't dare do any more for the moment," another of the medics was saying, his voice high and uncertain.

"Could fry the whole central processing unit if we poke around there any more," said a third, ending his sentence with a manic little giggle that made Starscream want out of his medbay immediately.

Megatron's harsh glare fixed on the one who'd just spoken. Starscream cycled a small sigh of relief. "Then no more of his memory core can be salvaged?"

Another of the medical team stepped forward hastily to stand in front of his laughing teammate. "We never said that, Lord Megatron. Only that we must wait and observe what effect the patches we've already installed might have before we try to reconstruct more of Starscream's memories."

"Understood," Megatron growled, clearly displeased.

Starscream had to admit he wasn't much happier. "So what now? You foo - er, _medics_ leave me here until you decide to examine me again?"

He could hardly think of anything more boring.

And he hated being bored.

Someone sniffed. Starscream turned to face the medic who'd spoken as he first awoke. "We'll never learn if the patch worked if he stays here," the mech scoffed. "He must explore and investigate his surroundings. They might kickstart whatever sectors of his memory core remain uncorrupted, or initiate his own self-correction routines."

"But he won't remember slag otherwise," growled one of the rough-voiced members of the team.

Megatron chuckled, a surprisingly rich laugh from a mech with such a gravelly voice. Starscream realized he wanted to hear it again.

"You're suggesting I give_ Starscream_ the run of the base, knowing he's sustained processor damage?"

"We're - uh, no, we're not suggesting that -" the timid one put in. "We're saying that under supervision, he should be allowed to -"

"Supervision that hopefully isn't us," the medic with the tray added, wandering off to put the supplies back, probably so that Megatron wouldn't round on him.

Megatron only snickered again. "For how long?"

"We don't know. But we can certainly examine him frequently. Daily, if need be. We just need someone to look after him, someone who might be able to remind him of his life here -"

Megatron smirked. "I'll do it myself."

"My - my lord - are you sure that - ?"

"Can any of you think of anyone else who could manage to keep Starscream out of trouble?"

The medic with the manic laugh tittered. The broad-framed ones shushed him with twin rumbling roars of their engines.

_What makes you think you're up to that task yourself?_ Starscream thought, smirking directly at Megatron, making no attempt to hide the sound of his turbines whirling.


	2. Chapter 2

Starscream reached a hand out to touch the wall, his fingers sliding over one of the seams. The metal was light but sturdy. Not the sort of thing he would have expected a building or a base to be built from.

_This is - this is a ship_, he thought suddenly, wondering whether he'd remembered or deduced it. _Or it was once, anyway._

He doubted Megatron would like him touching the walls, but the big mech would just have to deal with it. Hadn't the medics told Starscream he needed sensory input to jog his memory?

And Megatron certainly wasn't giving him much of that. The big mech frowned in concentration at the door in front of them, his hand moving over the console controlling the lock. He'd stood like that for what felt like a breem now.

Staring at Megatron's back had been nice for a while, and he still enjoyed the view, but this was getting terribly dull.

"Problems with security?" he taunted, leaning against the wall.

Megatron ignored him.

Venting a huff, he spoke again.

"Your sequence could be twice as difficult to decipher and twice as short if you used one of the coding systems we used in Vos, you know."

Megatron turned, fixing him with a strangely intense stare that sent a shiver down his backstrut.

"Why so suspicious, mighty Megatron? I'm only trying to help you."

Megatron's optics widened, but the look was less one of surprise than it was of scrutiny. Starscream fought down a chuckle and only barely managed to keep his wings still. Megatron was wise, perhaps, not to trust him, but surely he had better things to do than hack a lock.

_Or maybe I don't_, Starscream thought as the doors slid open, and he realized he hadn't been wrong about Megatron's reaction to him earlier.

He wasn't certain whether he knew by memory, deduction, or hunch, but he had no doubt of it: Megatron had brought him to his personal quarters.

Unlike the halls of the base - ship - whatever it was exactly, the plates that made up the walls of Megatron's rooms were a dark, unpainted gray. Starscream would have called it dreadfully plain, except that Megatron had had them polished with such care they gleamed. Light strips shone from the walls and the ceiling at precise intervals, bathing everything with a dim, flame-orange light.

On the far wall stood a desk lined with datapads, stacked so precisely Starscream had the sudden wild impulse to rush over to it and knock half of them to the floor. Glowing in the smooth surface of the desk, Starscream could see a detailed console, and he guessed that the wall served as a projection screen for holograms of information or a visual display for communications.

A chair sat in front of the desk, as plain as everything else, its back rising angular and straight. Somehow, in this room, it looked less like a chair and more like a throne, and Starscream found himself imagining how Megatron would look sitting in it.

The wall was dormant for now, making the room look all the more spartan and forbidding. Inlaid above the projection space was Megatron's symbol, made of light strips, glowing a brighter purple than the lights embedded in the walls.

Being the only adornment on the wall, it drew the optic inexorably. Starscream looked from it to his wing and then back again with a faint shudder.

_It means something to him,_ Starscream thought with a faint thrill of recognition. _He put it there to remind himself of - of his purpose._

Accessing his memory files brought only errors and shadowy confusion. He remembered flame - burning orange, like the lights in the room, and shouting, and the sounds of weapons charging and firing.

_There was - a war?_ He racked his processor for anything more, but it only earned him a cascade of errors and a dull, throbbing pain so intense he put a hand to his helm.

Megatron was at his side in a moment, guiding him to a couch against one of the other walls and pushing him into it, not gently.

He lowered his hand as if scalded and fixed Megatron with a deadly glare. A little headache didn't mean he needed help! And besides, if Megatron was going to play nursebot, surely he could do it with more consideration for a flier's delicate frame.

"Was that really necessary, Megatron?"

The big mech frowned. "You would know better than I. Are you in pain?"

"I was - trying to remember - I was looking at this thing you have painted or branded on everything and everyone. I remembered something, and then when I tried to probe deeper into my memory banks, it pained me." He clicked his wings, hissing. "Then you shoved me onto this couch."

Was it his imagination, or had Megatron's lip plate just twisted up in a faint smile? "What did you remember?"

Starscream hesitated. He was at this mech's mercy, this mech and his medical team, and he doubted that mercy went far. But until he understood what his place was here, he wasn't about to go giving details willy-nilly if he could use them later.

And he didn't want this. He wanted his memories back, yes, and the sooner the better. But he felt sure, from the way Megatron had just led him here, that he'd been here before.

And if he had, and Megatron was going to shove him down onto the couches, he wanted some memories back sooner than others.

"Fire," he said simply, rising to his feet again and leaving the word for Megatron to interpret as he willed. "I remember fire."

"You remember battle, Starscream," Megatron rumbled, his voice grave. "With our Autobot enemies."

_Or not,_ Starscream thought, amused that Megatron sounded so sure.

And yet.

"Autobot," Starscream repeated, hissing the word as though sipping bitter energon.

It meant nothing to him for the moment, and he feared that probing his memory banks too deeply would only give him another processor ache.

And yet, hearing the word, he felt anger roil in his spark. He hissed in indignation, his heels clicking on the ground, his wings flaring to challenge something that wasn't there.

"Did these 'Autobots' do this to me?"

_And what about my wingmates? _he thought suddenly, a hot curl of anger flaring through his systems. Had they been harmed as well?

Were they even here at all? If he remembered war, and there had been a crash -

_They must be alive, at least. If they were dead, I'd feel it in my spark._

"My trine -"

"- Are here," Megatron answered. "They sustained damage in the battle when you were taken. But nothing serious happened to either of them."

_Other than losing me,_ Starscream corrected wordlessly. They were trine.

They would have fought to protect him. Of that, Starscream was certain.

"They were repaired quickly, and returned to duty shortly thereafter. They were, of course, integral to the mission to retrieve you."

"Of course." Starscream's hands clenched into hard little fists. That he couldn't remember his own trine saving him made him seethe.

"While I was a prisoner, my captors wiped my memories?" he went on, wanting to distract himself from the thought of what he'd lost.

Megatron's faceplates creased in a frown. "If they did, it would be unusual. Their Prime would see doing such a thing as dishonorable."

Megatron murmured something, his voice laced with almost as much contempt as Starscream's own had been. Then he spoke again.

"But you were their prisoner. When we recovered you, you were severely damaged. Perhaps one of them saw fit to break their usual codes of conduct."

"For me?" Starscream laughed. "I wonder what I could have done to warrant that." He tried to keep his tone light, but the words came out cold. His eyes flared a bright angry red and his weapons systems hummed.

"Perhaps one of them sought to - tame you," Megatron answered with a cold laugh of his own.

Starscream's optics widened. Tame him? It was an odd thing to say, talking about war.

"I've made - trouble, then." His optics glittered as he leaned nearer to Megatron. He would have to find out more about these Autobots. Especially which of them to kill for what they'd done to him, and how to make that death as horrible as possible.

But for now, it could wait.

"Trouble, Starscream? You should know the answer to that already." The big mech stepped closer, his hand reaching up to hover just above one of Starscream's wings and linger there. "Whether you remember it or not."

With a smirk of triumph, Starscream reached up to wrap a hand around Megatron's helmet, caressing the surface as though he could memorize the scratches and dents.

Or, perhaps, recall the way they'd felt to him before.

Bringing his mouth close enough to brush against Megatron's, Starscream spoke again. "And what about you? Would you try to - tame me?" His vocalizer hitched, and if his valve hadn't been dripping before, he felt sure it was doing so now.

As their lip plates pressed together, he felt a broad, heavy hand close around his wing, tight and possessive, clenching tight enough to sting.

Starscream shuddered violently, his turbines spinning as he opened his mouth. Had kissing always felt this good?

Or perhaps it was the hand on his wing that did it, the pressure of the big mech's fingers against the thin plating of his wing and the flight-sensors lacing its surface.

Or maybe it was that same strange response he'd felt upon waking. Maybe he always felt like this with Megatron.

Too curious - and too alarmed by how strongly he was responding to so little - to keep himself from trying, he queried his databanks, steeling himself against the pain that might come with it.

Colors and faces whirled through his processor, a dizzying array of half-corrupted recollections. Lecherous grins shifted into grasping hands and back again, and he heard the echo of his own voice, crackling from eagerness, silky with invitation.

He remembered hands on wings, mouths on spikes, fingers tracing over his valve. In one half-memory, those hands were black and thick - Megatron's, most likely.

_I do know you._

But the sensations themselves, he could not remember. The images flickered through his mind, lifeless data stored and recorded, no emotion stirring in his affect centers in response.

That made him twitch with anger. Not only had his enemies left him damaged and confused, but they'd apparently taken away quite a bit of his fun.

Shaking with anger, he cursed them inwardly for robbing him of how all that had felt.

But they couldn't rob him of this, of now, of the hot metal of Megatron's faceplates pressed to his and the lightning-currents of the sensors in his wings as Megatron's grip tightened.

He squirmed in Megatron's arms, pressing closer. If he couldn't have his memories, he would have this. All of this. As much of this as he could take, and as soon.

He wanted everything, and he wanted it now.

His spike thudded against its cover, pressurized, eager to be freed. He thought vaguely that he hadn't used it much with anyone. At the moment he didn't give a damn. He had lost memories to make up for.

Megatron worried at his mouth with a sharpened dental plate and then drew away. Starscream keened, furious at the loss, and pressed the glass over his chestplate to Megatron's own chest, feeling the deep vibration of the bigger mech's fans and the hot searing crackle of his spark.

Lubricant poured from his valve in a sudden, desperate gush, oozing out from under the seam holding its cover closed.

"Eager for me, Starscream?" Megatron taunted, his already raspy voice crackling with static.

"Don't tell me you're surprised," Starscream shot back. "I've been here before."

Megatron laughed. "You do remember." Starscream heard the faint hiss of a cover opening and the click of it sliding aside.

Megatron's spike cover? He almost remembered, and the vague itch of memory hovering just barely outside of his consciousness only annoyed him more.

"No," he snapped, refusing to look down. "I don't."

He slid his hand down Megatron's neck, narrowing his optics as his fingers moved on the smooth coils of the cabling there. He stopped for a moment at the shoulder, its armor plating thick and pitted with tiny scars.

He wondered where Megatron had acquired them. If there had been war, he missed seeing that - the great silver colossus wounded, but marching ever on.

His hand moved to Megatron's chest plate, the metal under his hand heated to searing.

_You've missed this,_ Starscream thought. _Almost as much as it seems I have._

His fingers traced the unfamiliar symbol branded into Megatron's chest, curling to dig into the edges of the scar. His processor rewarded him with a flash of memory: searing pain and bright light, as heated irons pressed pitilessly against his wings, scorching the symbol into their surface.

"I don't," Starscream said again, his voice laced with static. "I can't remember anything. Not really. But you do."

He felt Megatron's grip loosen on his wing. The sensors there stung as the pressure eased, and he knew the crushing grip had dented the thin plating there. But as Megatron's fingers moved over the place they'd damaged, setting every stinging sensor alight, Starscream gasped.

He licked his lip plates, fluttering his wing against Megatron's hand.

Megatron's frame hummed, a deep purr, and his fingertips ghosted over Starscream's own brand. The scar throbbed, alive with old pain that felt almost like memory.

"I don't," he said again, pulling away just enough to look down.

His valve pulsed with heat and static flickered at the edges of his optics as he gazed at the prize he'd been waiting for.

Megatron's spike was as plain as his plating, a broad column of silver jutting upward as if straining to reach the mech standing just in front of it. It looked solid, solid and heavy and so wide Starscream's wings flicked in startled surprise. He'd expected Megatron to be big, but -

He was a Seeker, tall but lithe, built of light metal that gave him speed and grace in flight. Had that ever really fit in - there?

Then his valve clenched, spasming around nothing, empty and hungry, and whether he remembered it or not, he knew that it would.

"You remember," he murmured. Grinning, he slid the covers of both his valve and spike aside as slowly as he could bear. "And I want to."

Megatron laughed, his optics glowing bright as he beheld the two prizes laid out in front of him. "Brazen as always."

Starscream grinned. That part of himself, he didn't need to recall. He laid back down on the couch, trusting to his instincts to make the movement sultry. "Of course."

He realized his error immediately. There wasn't much room for his wings, lying like this, and he squirmed.

Which only made Megatron stare all the more greedily at him. Chuckling, he ignored the discomfort.

"We could go inside," Megatron said, his voice made all the harsher by desire.

"Or I could drag you there," the big mech murmured, a dark hand reaching for Starscream's wing.

"But there's so much we could do here," Starscream protested, power cycling to his weapons systems as he twisted away from the grabbing hand. "And I don't think you want to make me wait. Whatever you know about me -"

"I know enough," Megatron snapped. A hand moved to one of Starscream's shoulder vents and squeezed, setting his sensor net alight all over again.

All the same, he froze. That grip could easily become dangerous, and something in Megatron's tone told him that while pushing further might just make this more fun, it might open up some other things as well. Things Starscream might not want to play with until he knew enough about them to be ready.

"Well then," Starscream teased, keeping his voice carefully light. "You're only getting in your own way, after all."

Megatron's frame rumbled, but his grip didn't tighten any further.

"In my own way, am I? Well then. We'll begin here, and finish there. If you can control yourself long enough."

Starscream frowned, glaring. Was Megatron always so petty?

Still, they wanted the same thing for the moment. He could handle whatever else mattered after he got what he wanted, after all.

"You remember nothing?" Megatron asked suddenly, the silver lip plates curled up in a cruel little smile.

"I remember your hands," Starscream answered, trying for a seductive tone but sounding snappish instead. "Not like I want. Not like you want. Just hands.

"Why don't you show me what they can do?" he purred, smirking, fighting his frustration and impatience.

Megatron said nothing to that. The black hand moved from its place on Starscream's shoulder, shaking with eagerness as it touched the hot plating of Starscream's chest and slid to his side.

Slowly, carefully, Megatron drew his hand down Starscream's frame. Sometimes he curled his fingers into seams, digging them under plating, just enough to set Starscream's processor whirling with reminders of his strength.

_He could crush someone easily,_ Starscream thought, remembering that first glimpse of Megatron's broad body after waking in the medbay. He canted his hips, an obvious signal of his intent, and arched into the touch with a high little gasp as Megatron's fingers moved over his abdominal plating, tracing their way down to his interface equipment.

The dark fingers slid past his spike entirely - _so I was right,_ Starscream thought - instead finding the rim of his valve and tracing a circle there.

The touch was entirely too light. So was the other hand pressed to his wing. Starscream opened his mouth to fire back a retort about how foolish Megatron was to treat the gem of Cybertron's skies like something about to fall apart.

Instead, he found his hips moving again, pressing a sensor node at the lip of his valve hard against Megatron's fingers, his vocalizer emitting a high whine of need.

"Oh no," Megatron murmured, his optics lit with dark amusement. "What you want comes last."

Starscream gasped in indignation, only to feel Megatron's other hand at his wing, tracing along the edge slowly as if to soothe him.

Then the hand at his valve moved up, encircling his spike, and Starscream could spare only a moment for his anger as his sensornet alit anew with sensations at once familiar and brilliantly new.

Megatron wasn't gentle. He pumped Starscream with hard, rough strokes, gripping the spike in his fist tight, like a possession.

Every movement set sensors flaring after it, and Starscream gasped, his vocalizer emitting a high whine. He could almost feel the ghosts of other hands on him, soft and gentle, hasty and insistent.

And harsh and avaricious, like this. He thrust hard into Megatron's hand, wanting the sensation to shiver through him so intensely it forced his glitching processor to remember.

Had anyone else ever dared to touch him this way, or was he remembering Megatron's hands on him.

_I'd rip anyone who tried it to scrap_, he thought, looking up to meet Megatron's optics and seeing twin wheels of fire.

_And he would do it anyway_, Starscream thought, shuddering. Megatron was smiling - or giving Starscream whatever passed for a smile, the corner of one side of his mouth upturned in a sneer of amused contempt.

"My wing," Starscream panted. "Don't forget about that. You do have two hands, you know."

Megatron glared. "Starscream," he said, in a warning tone that echoed through Starscream's processor. His turbines whirled, his systems instantly alert.

He knew that tone, spark-deep. Had it frightened him before? He wasn't sure - but if it had, that meant he'd grown lazy and foolish. He stared back at Megatron, his optics bright, holding that molten-metal gaze without flinching.

Then he grinned, twitching his wing in an unmistakable gesture of invitation, pressing the thin metal against Megatron's hand.

"I know what you're going to do," he murmured, licking his lip plates, imagining those thick-plated fingers tightening around his wing, twisting and tearing, the pain of it setting his sensornet ablaze just like Megatron's hand on his spike was doing now -

The hand splayed against his wing, resting there, frozen and inert. The fist around his spike loosened, its pace slowing to an unbearable crawl, its movements setting the sensors alight just enough to tease.

"Why you -" Starscream sputtered.

Megatron smirked. "Didn't I tell you that you'll get what you want, Starscream?"

"Yes -" Starscream sputtered, the acid he'd meant to lace through the remark dissolving into static.

Megatron's hand moved on Starscream's spike again. Sensation rocketed through Starscream's systems immediately, sudden and violent. How had an overload felt, exactly?

He'd learn soon enough, all over again.

After many vorns of experience, how many mechs got that chance?

He flicked his wings and canted his hips, pressing himself into Megatron's hand, all shame forgotten. Megatron's hand tightened around him again, clenching almost tight enough to be painful, and the fingers on his wing moved, wanting to dig into the plating there in spite of Megatron's will.

Starscream gloated as Megatron moved on him, as violently as he had before. Megatron could draw this out all he wanted, but Starscream knew very well what they both wanted - and what he would have, once Megatron had exhausted himself and he'd learned all he wanted to know.

Megatron quickened his pace and Starscream matched his movements, thrusting into the hand on him as he abandoned himself to the sensation of heat building in his spike and flaring in his neglected valve, zipping through his circuitry and setting his very spark alight.

Static fuzzed at the edges of his vision. His spark pulsed, overfull, as if his very life force itself would burst free of him with his transfluid. Was it always like that, or was it just because this was his first all over again, his body remembering what his mind could not?

It hardly mattered. He opened his mouth to cry his joy, one thought consuming him as the heat surging through his systems finally burst free:

_You think you're claiming me. But all you're giving me, mighty gladiator, is exactly what I want._


	3. Chapter 3

He rebooted slowly, a dreamy haze suffusing his systems. It felt good, and Starscream floated contentedly for a moment before his processor spat the same chilling knot of errors as before.

Were there less? He couldn't tell. But now, thinking of Megatron's hands on him, a jolt of heat raced through his interface systems, making his spike twitch in spite of its depressurized state and his valve clench tightly. Whether that meant his old memories had regained some of their color or only showed he'd succeeded in storing new ones, he liked it far better than the emotionless, confused glimmers he'd been barely able to access before.

As his processor cleared - or, better said, cleared as much as it was going to, given the damage - he could feel the sticky wetness of his own transfluid drying against his plating. He grinned, a cheeky little smile. He liked it there. It reminded him of his pleasure - and of the big mech who'd brought him here laboring only to give it to him.

He reset his optics to find himself staring directly at Megatron's spike, a rising sweep of thick gray metal. Fluid glistened at the tip, glowing faintly.

His grin only widened. The obviously pressurized spike only made it more obvious that Starscream had overloaded and Megatron hadn't. _You've been holding yourself back all this time. That must be driving you insane._

_Especially if you've missed me._

His hand slid down to the rim of his still-uncovered valve, remembering the feeling of Megatron's fingertips against it. Wisps of memory taunted him with the promise of being filled, sensors hidden deep inside him awakening -

_Hmm,_ he thought with a smirk, _maybe I do remember some of how it feels._

He circled it lazily, lightly, feeling the wetness of his own lubricant leaking from his equipment. It felt familiar, reassuring and exciting him all at once.

His fingertips stopped at a cluster of especially sensitive sensors near the top. Irising his optics open, he brightened them, staring first at Megatron's still-pressurized spike and then up into the big mech's optics.

Immediately, he felt the weight of Megatron's hand wrapped around his, stopping his movement cold.

"Brazen and greedy." The smirk on the silver face mirrored Staracream's own as Megatron lifted the Seeker's hand up, wrenching it away from Starscream's interface panel. "Or is that impatient?"

Starscream's dark faceplates curled into a scowl and he stared at Megatron's hand over his. He couldn't say he minded being interrupted, not when it clearly meant Megatron doing more with him, but grabbing him like that, as if he had the right -!

"So now what?" he spat, petulant. "You grab me by a wing and drag me into your berth? I'm sure you're tired of waiting."

Megatron chuckled. Starscream shook his head. He was beginning to hate that sound - all over again, if he didn't miss his guess.

"You are the one tired of waiting, Starscream," he said, the static lacing his raspy voice belying his words. Starscream fought not to snicker or sneer, hearing it. Especially since Megatron was letting go of his hand and staring greedily at his open valve.

Realizing Megatron's intent, Starscream laughed, not caring that the big mech heard it. He wrapped his hand around the helmeted head as it lowered.

"You're going to drive yourself mad," he purred, exultant.

The first thing Starscream felt was the press of heated lip plates against his valve. He thought they might have trembled. But that might have been Starscream's own pelvic plates shaking, pressing themselves against the big mech's face.

This wasn't much, yet. Just the feel of metal against metal and the tantalizing curl of Megatron's hands against his hips. He shifted, resisting, just to feel Megatron's grip tighten around him and hold him in place. It did, and Starscream's turbines whirled, his spark crackling with needy, nervous heat.

He felt Megatron's lips part and gasped, canting his hips, waiting, his valve gushing lubricant in response to ghostly touches he'd felt once, someday, before.

Then he felt Megatron's glossa touch the rim of his valve, and the memories blazed to sudden life, all at once.

Megatron's glossa moved on him, careful and deliberate, seeking sensor nodes Starscream himself had forgotten and finding them, unerringly. Starscream's free hand dug hard into the couch beneath him and he felt Megatron's laughter as the big mech's lip plates vibrated, humming through his systems with a light, pleased derision that made Starscream's systems only run hotter.

Starscream panted, his high voice cracking into static. That was the only thing he had left to remember. The sting of something piercing him, the fullness and bite as it stretched him. He could feel the sensor nodes in his valve, dormant for the moment, craving the thing that would force them to life again.

"At least put fingers in me," he snarled, gripping Megatron's head tight.

His answer was a growl that rumbled through the sensitive rim of his valve, and a quick dart of Megatron's glossa inside him, a tantalizing lick that did just enough to stir the sensors there.

He ground his hips hard against the plating of Megatron's face, trying to force the glossa deeper. He whimpered at the feeling, a high, staticky whine.

But it still was nowhere near enough.

"Why?" Starscream's voice was a grating screech. "What do you think you're trying to prove?"

Megatron growled against him and the glossa withdrew entirely. Starscream froze, his processor spinning with thoughts of revenge.

But Megatron apparently wasn't done with him yet. The glossa extended again, laving the cluster of sensors on the rim of Starscream's valve.

Heat flared through Starscream's systems. He cursed, howling and shaking his head, half craving the pleasure he felt building in his systems and half wanting to will the overload away until Megatron took him properly, damn it.

But Megatron growled against him again, and he felt strong arms grip at his hips, forcing him to stillness as the glossa moved against him, pitiless despite its seeming gentleness. Signals zipped through his sensornet, inexorable and real and alive, and he ground hard against Megatron's lip plates, wanting more, faster, now.

He felt Megatron's grip tighten again, as greedy as he felt, and the overload crashed over him before he could remember to fight it.

###

"Get up," rasped Megatron, the scratchy voice cutting through Starscream's post-overload relaxation.

His optics flickered in irritation. He wanted more, yes, and he wanted it now. But he didn't want to move to get it.

And why should he, anyway? Megatron had held back while he brought Starscream to overload twice. Surely all he could manage would be to plunge into Starscream's waiting valve, already slick from their earlier activities.

Pain flared in his wing. He felt the metal buckle and dent as a hand tightened around it, pulling him up. Strangely enough, it almost felt good, a sharp spike of intensity playing counterpoint to the lazy spell of his pleasure.

Had Megatron intended that? Some distant part of Starscream's mind told him he shouldn't be surprised. But all the same, if those strong hands tensed any harder, the haze filtering through his systems wouldn't be enough to transmute it.

And Megatron _had_ threatened to drag him inside.

Long before he'd spent cycles tending to Starscream's pleasure and neglecting his own.

So far, this little session had certainly shown that the big mech could be patient. What happened when that patience ran out?

Starscream's wing shook nervously. The grip clenching it tightened, pitiless and inescapable as a vise. Agony lanced through Starscream's sensor net and he howled loud enough to see Megatron wince.

He allowed himself only an astrosecond to gloat.

"Let go, you overgrown fool!" he yelped, forcing his wing to stillness in the hopes it would calm his tormentor down. Or hurt less, anyway. "It's not like I'm not going to follow you!"

His petulant promise to follow was rewarded with a rich, rolling chuckle and just enough slack in the grip on his wing to cool the burn there to a slow simmer. His valve spasmed in some combination of greed and aftershock

He let the big mech haul him up, moving just enough to catch his legs under him and take most of his own weight. The casual strength in Megatron's massive shoulder, grabbing him like a toy or doll, set his spark whirling with some emotion that felt half like fear and half like urgency.

He craned his neck, trying to tilt his head far enough to get a good look at Megatron, the cabling in his neck tensing as it stretched. No doubt that massive spike was still fully pressurized, aching from the long wait.

Starscream wasn't sure which he wanted more: the sight of such obvious evidence that the mighty gladiator wanted him, or the opportunity to look from that obvious evidence to its owner's optics and offer his most contemptuous grin, knowing that all of Megatron's vaunted self-control had only fueled his need.

###

If possible, the recharge area was even plainer than the main room. As before, the tiles of the wall gleamed gray, and as before, light shone from strips on the walls and ceiling. These were especially bright, bathing the room with an incandescent, orange glow, and the tiles of the far wall were reflective. Starscream preened as Megatron half-led, half-dragged him in.

His reflection looked strange. He'd noticed it before, catching sight of unfamiliar curves and angles of his plating. And was it his imagination, or did the glass over his chest plate look like it was on a hinge that could - open? He queried his databanks and discovered that yes, for some strange reason, he could shift it aside if he liked.

Why he would do that, he had no idea yet. The thought sent a shudder of disorientation through him, tainted with a faint echo of disgust and a twinge of sensory memory. Had he had some kind of parasite - _in _there? He shivered again, so hard that Megatron mistook it for eagerness and curled his fingertips into the plating of Starscream's wing, sending a flurry of sensory signals through the aching metal of the wing.

Starscream moaned at that, watching his own optics glitter with want in the mirror.

Like everything else, the berth was spare, but Starscream noticed with avid approval that it was also large.

He was in the middle of contemplating whether or not it would be comfortable when he felt strong arms lift him and deposit him on its surface, roughly enough that the impact thudded through his back and wings.

He squirmed, half in fury and half in desire.

Above him, Megatron's optics burned, twin pinpricks of bright flame. The thick silver spike jutted out from his pelvic plating. Fluid dripped from the tip. Starscream stared, licking his lips, wondering what it tasted like. He'd known once, he was sure of that, and hints of the memory taunted him, faint blips of sensory data flickering through his processor.

_I want -_ he thought, but Megatron already had his hands around Starscream's hips and was pulling him to the edge of the berth, his silver mouth closed tight with concentration, save for a tiny smirk tugging at one edge.

Starscream shuttered his optics. He thought of resisting, simply because he could, but the dark hands pulled him effortlessly and there was nothing he could have done about it anyway. And even the satiation of two overloads, one after the other, did nothing to dull the intensity of his need. His valve clenched hard, furious to find itself empty. He spread his legs wide, spitting a curse at Megatron for not going faster still.

Then the hands on him moved, wrenching his thighs apart further, the sting in his joints racing through his sensornet like a sudden strike of lightning. He grabbed at the edges of the berth, clenching tight, as he felt the blunt weight of Megatron's spike pressed against the rim of his valve.

He rocked his hips, wanting Megatron to hurry, and succeeded in doing nothing but pressing his sensors against it, the flurry of sensation making him whimper.

He felt Megatron grab at his hips again. The big mech chuckled once, his optics flaring as he stared down at his prize.

Then, with one great thrust, he drove himself to the hilt into Starscream's waiting valve.

Starscream threw back his head and wailed as Megatron entered him, the hidden sensors lining his valve ablaze all at once as the thick spike stretched and filled him. Even he could never imagine feeling so much, his valve shifting around its invader, his frame itself opening and opening -

_Maybe I can't_, he thought suddenly, pushing back onto the spike invading him and whimpering anew as Megatron drove into him, the hands at his hips pushing him onto the thick spike all the harder.

His spark pulsed heavy and overfull, his processor filling with images, touches, invasions, brutal pleasures overlaid one over the other until he shook his head, overwhelmed.

He looked up at Megatron, staring at the bright light in the gladiator's optics. _Maybe - maybe I'm remembering what it was like before._

That thought made him reach up to touch Megatron's abdomen, feeling the heat there, the faint vibration of the motors tucked inside the big mech's powerful frame.

His hand curled around Megatron's side, as possessive as the spike inside him.

_I remember you._

He opened his mouth wide and laughed, a trilling giggle that ended in a plea.

A hand moved to his wing. He gasped out encouragement again, his vocalizations laced with static.

This time Megatron wasn't gentle. The big hand wrenched at an aileron, grabbing and twisting. Starscream shrieked, but somehow by the time the scream had left his mouth he felt only pleasure, a fierce consuming fire, and the throb he felt in the dented plating was a thousand memories flickering to life inside his processor.

And the ache it would leave him with would be proof of a new memory, stored and safe where no one could take it from him.

"Harder, you fool," he hissed, wanting his valve to ache the way his wing did, so that after Megatron was done, even the hidden parts deep inside him would bear witness to what had happened tonight.

Megatron wasn't vulgar enough to laugh out loud as his partner had. But Starscream could feel it, all the same, a thrumming rumble from deep within the big mech's frame as he drove into Starscream full force, heedless of the damage it might do to the thin lining of the Seeker's valve.

Starscream spread his legs wider, the metal of his valve shifting to better admit Megatron as the hand moved on his wing again, fisting tight, the knuckles digging hard into the dents.

_You're close, _Starscream thought, his spark whirling with triumph at the proof of how badly Megatron wanted him.

Then Megatron rammed into him, too forcefully even for his fully open valve, and he keened, wild and mad, not sure whether it was pain or pleasure setting every sensor in his valve ablaze. His vision fuzzed again, this time not with static but with white, consuming light. He gritted his dental plates, holding back, willing himself not to let go until Megatron came inside him, washing his burning insides clean.

He felt the thick spike freeze inside him, still enough that he could feel every sore spot in the inside of his valve ache, a dull throbbing pain. He shuttered his optics and whimpered.

"Please -"

With a rumbling roar, Megatron slammed into him one final time. Hot fluid burst free from the spike inside him, a balm and a promise and a benediction.

The white light burst before his optics, a flame scouring him clean.

_I remember you_, he thought again, losing himself, knowing spark-deep it wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last.

###

"Starscream."

There was no indulgence in the voice. No consideration for his weariness. Or for the cold chill in his processor as he hit that block of errors, by now at once familiar and terrifying.

Or for the soreness in his wing and valve.

"Megatron," he growled, flicking his wings in irritation and hissing at the pain. What was it he'd been thinking about wanting this brute to damage him again? Right now those "mementos" he'd so desperately wanted felt like falling apart.

He slid into a half-sitting position, wincing exaggeratedly. "Isn't it early, even for you?"

The words came out laced with bitter static. Half because he suspected that it wasn't, and half because the gaping hole in his memory meant suspecting was all he could do.

"I have an army to lead," Megatron answered.

_Oh yes, that_, Starscream thought, all the more annoyed for not remembering much of that either. He still remembered flame, and flying, raining death and destruction down on mechs on the ground, some running, some driving. He bit his lip plates to keep himself from retorting aloud. He didn't mind irritating Megatron, of course, but being too flippant about war wasn't wise.

Not when Megatron's enemies were his enemies, and his enemies were the ones who'd done this to him. He had revenge to take.

Megatron regarded him coldly, no expression at all on the silver face. Starscream twitched his wings, regardless of the dents. A mocking smirk would at least have been an acknowledgment of what had passed between them, of how intense it had felt -

He snickered at himself. _We do this all the time. Why should he even notice?_

But the chilled feeling that made his spark seize in indignation wasn't the idea that Megatron hadn't felt the same way he had.

It was the thought that Megatron had felt all of it, exactly as he had, and wasn't acknowledging it for some reason of his own.

_How often have I recharged here, in his quarters?_ Starscream thought suddenly, violently, jolted by an insistent need to know the answer to that question.

It was a stupid question - wasn't it? They'd been berthmates for a very long time. Of that, he was certain now. The shadowy, sensual echoes of black hands and scarred silver at the edges of his mind stretched back hundreds of vorns. That much of the data, he could access, faint hints like peripheral vision.

And if they had been berthmates for that long, surely he'd recharged here. Surely.

Hadn't he?

Something cold seized at his spark, contracting it tight, at the thought that he didn't know. That there was more than a hole in his memory.

He wondered why he cared. He'd had never been particularly interested in anyone's trust. Not unless he could use it for something. Why should it matter whether Megatron trusted him? He had what he wanted, and he hadn't needed the big mech's trust to get it.

Still, that feeling churned through his spark, cold and unsettling. And Megatron certainly wasn't helping. He stood still as a statue or a drone, something built of lifeless metal, only the burning optics hinting at life.

Starscream studied him, scowling. His plating, though dented in places and pitted with scars, gleamed, pristine, no stains or smears of paint hinting at what had passed between them.

Starscream looked at the light caught in the scratches and licked his lips, brazen and blatant. If Megatron didn't want to admit what he'd just been doing, well, Starscream had no qualms about throwing it right back in his faceplates.

"An army. Of course." He twitched his dented wing, slowly and unmistakably, gasping at the pain, so loudly there was no way for Megatron to miss it. "How foolish of me to forget."

"And you," Megatron went on, "have a medical team to meet with."

The frozen lip plate shifted, and Starscream's spark flooded with warmth and relief to see the easy, amused contempt on that severe face again. "If you've fully rebooted after your recharge, I suggest you find your way to the washracks."

His gaze swept over Starscream, taking in the dents his hands had left, the transfluid and energon and lubricant smearing Starscream's glass and thighs and valve, still uncovered and obscenely open.

"Unless you want to go before the medics looking like _that_," the big mech finished.

Starscream laughed, rising to his feet with languorous slowness. Mockery laced with obvious lust, he understood.

That, he could easily handle.

"Oh, but shocking them would be so much _fun_, mighty Megatron," he called over one shoulder, already crossing the room.


End file.
